Living Death
by Special K the Great
Summary: He's dead now--by his own hand. This is my fault, and I don't care what they say. They're wrong. Sirius killed himself, and I let him.


This is my second story. I got a really review on my first story, so now I'm a little nervous. I hope this one is good as well.

Warings: heavy suicide and attempted suicide. also Slash. If you do not like it, then do not read it.

Disclaimer: Not mine, but how I wish it was.

Last thing: Please tell me how I did. I could really use some constructive comments as my friends who I make suffer through it never offer me constructive comments. It's quite sad. Anyway, enough rambling.

**Living Death**

The first time I saw Sirius Black, I thought he had to be an angel. I was eleven years old, standing on Platform 9 ¾ waiting for the train that would take me to school for the very first time. I was so nervous my palms were slick. Then I saw him for the first time. He was being pulled along by his arm by a severe-looking witch. Almost everyone around him was wearing green, but he wore black. The very first thing I had noticed was he shown with something all the others lacked.

My mum told me once angels were God's most perfect creation, and he sent one out to everyone of His children to protect them. Sirius seemed to perfect to be human, so, of course, he had to be an angel, and I couldn't help but wonder who he had been sent to save.

I hadn't known that some times even angels needed to be saved. Sometimes help comes too late.

He's dead.

Two days ago he killed himself, or as good as killed himself. The Healers don't think he'll ever wake up. He had taken enough of the Drought of Living Death to lay to rest three men, and brilliant Sirius had found a way to render a bezoar utterly useless.

All this time I hadn't shed a single tear. If I would start, I don't think I could stop.

My name is Remus J. Lupin. I'm sixteen and I am a werewolf. Sirius hadn't minded that, and neither did James or Peter. They were…are…my best friends, and now one of them is dead.

Lily had been the one to find him. She told me the potion hadn't taken affect yet and he had time enough to tell her something, but she won't tell me what it was he said. She says Dumbledore made her swear she wouldn't tell anyone. I don't know if I really want to know what he said anyway.

Yesterday was the memorial. The Potters made all the arrangements. I don't think there was one dry eye at the service (other than mine). Classes had been canceled since no one would have paid any attention anyway. Sirius's family (evil, sick people they are) came. They put on a right show; one would almost think Mrs. Black really cared about the son she claimed not to have. She was hysterical. It was an act, and everyone knew it. Mrs. Potter loved Sirius more than the entirety of his family; he was like the second son she prayed for. Sirius even called her "mum."

Sirius's father and little brother were there, too. They were cold and stiff (almost as if they were the dead ones), but Regulus had tears in his eyes. Orion Black's eyes were only glazed, but he did not cry. Blacks didn't really cry as a rule.

They took him today. There was nothing Professor Dumbledore or the Potters' lawyers could do to stop the Blacks from claiming Sirius. Despite having disowned Sirius this last summer, the Ministry felt the Blacks are capable of keeping Sirius biologically alive (it wouldn't surprise me if they conveniently "forgot" to re-cast all the charms necessary just to make certain Regulus truly is the only Black son).

He was in a coffin, for God's sake. It was made of glass and he was arranged as if he was only sleeping. It was like a fairy tale, Snow White. Fair Sirius who was pure as snow was white with a persona unbefitting of a Black. Or maybe it was Sleeping Beauty, except a kiss would not wake him.

Maybe Regulus really does have a heart made of warmer substance than ice. After the memorial he walked right up to James and punched him (apparently the Brothers Black not only shared similar looks, but right hooks as well), screaming at him, "What have you done to my brother? I know it was you! You abandoned him! He needed you and you abandoned him!"

He was right. We all abandoned him. Three months ago Sirius made a mistake, and we punished him for it. If we had just taken ten minutes to listen to him, he would still be alive. This is all my fault. I could have stopped this from happening months ago.

I never told anyone, but Sirius had made a prophecy. No one else knew Sirius was a seer. Hell, Sirius didn't even know, and I didn't tell him. He for-told everything, and I disregarded it. God, I am a fool.

_Secrets trusted and secrets best left unsaid shall now be told by one most dear to one most bitter enemy. Beware both slander and lie, for both sides, they have a story. Take caution to the warning, for if not, this life ends in tragedy._

How much more clear could he have been? How could I have missed the meaning in that?

And I claimed to love him…

Two hours ago I learned this was not the first time Sirius has attempted to end his life; this is just the first time he has succeeded.

Professor Dumbledore had James, Peter, and I talk to a therapist form St. Mungo's. I got a Healer Gretchen Kay. She had met Sirius ten years ago when he was six. He had slit his wrists. He was six years old and he had tried to die. The Blacks are old money, and so they could line the pockets of all who knew into silence.

Healer Kay knew something horrible had happened to Sirius. Of what happened she wasn't certain, but six year old children do not just decide to slit open their arms from their wrists to their elbows almost to the bone on a whim. Regardless, no one believed her word against the Blacks' power.

Sirius tried to kill himself at six years of age. He could play the violin, piano, cello, and harp, speak three languages (French, Italian, and Spanish) fluently and conversationally in four more (Latin, Greek, Romanian, and German), but strangely he didn't know a drop of English, and he had been showing signs of magic since he was a few months old. What could have happened to make him want to die?

At nine years of age he had taken a poison. Before he could expire, he was discovered and a bezoar was shoved down his trout.

At eleven (after he enter Hogwarts) he had tried to starve himself. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey, he survived. That was before James and he were friends and before he trusted me.

Last year, when he was fifteen, he had tried to hang himself, but the Blacks' demented house elf cut him down.

We never saw any of the signs. Some best friends we were. Some boyfriend I was.

Healer Kay told me it wasn't my fault. She told me Sirius had always been a troubled child, a danger to himself. She said once Sirius entered a depression, there was nothing anyone could do to bring him back.

Yeah right. I could have tried. This is my fault. I don't care what she says.

Good bye, my love. I hope it was worth it.


End file.
